


Old Pains

by HuiLian



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, because the hurt part is not shown, i don't know whether I want to tag this as, i guess, injuries, or - Freeform, so just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuiLian/pseuds/HuiLian
Summary: Bruce knew his would be a life of pain. From the moment he decided to do this, he knew what it would cost. His time, his body, his soul, every single thing he owned. He chose this, he knew. But pain when you receive an injury is not pain every time you breathe. It is not pain every time you walk. It is not pain every time you want to sleep and found that you can't because all those pains you have pushed away in the day and night all came back to haunt you in your sleep..Bruce's thoughts on his children's old, and lasting, injuries
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne & Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 83





	Old Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, have some pain! I had the idea when my ankle was acting up, but uni life got the better of me, so it had went away, but then act up again before I post this fic. That's how long it took to write this. Sorry.

Bruce had quite forgotten how it felt to be painless. There was always something bothering him, treading through his consciousness. The mangled joint he called his shoulder, which was always aching. The broken spine, the one he had almost succumbed to. Broken and mended, and then re-broken bones gave phantom pain Bruce could never quite ignore completely. The hundreds upon hundreds scars decorating his skin, which either itch or returned to him the pain he got receiving them. Bruce couldn't quite decide which one was worse, the itchiness or the pain.

Bruce knew his would be a life of pain. From the moment he decided to do this, he knew what it would cost. His time, his body, his soul, every single thing he owned. He chose this, he knew. But pain when you receive an injury is not pain every time you breathe. It is not pain every time you walk. It is not pain every time you want to sleep and found that you can't because all those pains you have pushed away in the day and night all came back to haunt you in your sleep. 

It will someday take his life too, this crusade of his. This he knew. It was not really something he would oppose. He knew that going in. It would take his time, his body, his soul, his life, and every single thing he owned. He would gladly give it. He knew that going in. 

He did not know that there would be others that would share this pain with him. 

* * *

Bruce did not know everything there is to know about Damian. It was a mistake he was trying to correct, but it was hard the way chasing a kitten is hard. The kitten itself would not come to you if he didn’t trust you, and the more you chase it, the harder it would run. Damian had not trusted Bruce, with a yet in that sentence if Bruce was feeling particularly hopeful that day. He had to keep reminding himself to let Damian come to him instead of chasing Damian around demanding answers. (It was Dick who gave him the kitten metaphor. It was very apt. It seemed that Dick knew Damian better than Bruce would ever be able to know him.) 

Bruce would try this way of letting Damian take the lead for some more time, then he would go and ask Dick again. It did not seem to work, because Damian had not gone to Bruce for anything at all, not from the smallest of things to the important ones. 

Like his spine. Damian’s spine. 

Damian was not even twelve yet. He had not gone through puberty, had not felt the awkward changes to his own body that would make doing a simple maneuver felt like trying to juggle ten maneuvers at once. He had not even been to high school. 

And yet, sometimes Bruce would find him laying down on his bed, clutching a hot compress to his back. The first few times Bruce just thought he had sprained something, and let him be. Damian did not appreciate it when you needle him with small things. But it happened again. And again. And again. 

Bruce was a detective. He was good at this. He knew what repeated pain in the spine meant. He knew that Damian would be feeling this pain for the rest of his life. Bruce wished Damian would have a long life, living until all his wishes and dreams had come true, but he knew even if Damian lived a long life, this pain would haunt him for the rest of his days. And Bruce would never wish pain on any of his children. 

"Damian?" Bruce asked. 

"Yes, Father." Damian said. He did not offer any other information. It had been like this every time Bruce asked Damian something. Damian expects you to already know what was happening in his life, and would never offer any additional information. It didn’t help that Dick was the one caring for him before. Dick could see through Damian as easily as he could see through Bruce, and would not need any more information. 

Bruce decided to go through this another way. “Have I told you the story of when I broke my back?” 

_That_ got Damian’s attention. The boy was always interested in hearing Bruce’s stories as Batman. Maybe it was because he was raised to see Batman as something that should be attained, but nevertheless, it suited Bruce’s purposes for now. 

“No, Father, I believe you have not told me this story yet. I think that Mother or Grayson may have mentioned it, but I would be glad to hear the full story of it.” 

Bruce sat down on the sofa, and expected Damian to do the same. He did not disappoint. Bruce watched Damian sitting down on the sofa, cataloguing every movement he makes. There is no pain, not today, at the very least. Not from recent injuries nor from old ones. No pain on Damian’s back, at least for today. 

As Bruce began the story of how Bane had broken his back, and everything that entails from it, he realized that this was not the story children usually hear about their parents. Any other twelve-year-old would not be hearing about the time a criminal broke their father’s back. Any other twelve-year-old would not be taking notes on how to improve in their capabilities as a fighter from this story. But Damian was not any other twelve year olds. 

It should concern Bruce that the parts he was glossing over was not the violence, nor the destruction. No. The parts that Bruce was glossing over this story was Dick and Tim’s brief partnership as Batman and Robin, because he knew that Damian would take offense in that. Damian would not be bothered by the violence, because he had lived all his life in it. He had borne the marks of that, from the way he moved, to the way he did not move. The way he would bite his tongue instead of screaming out in pain. The way he hides his pain even though it bothered him every single day. 

As Bruce finished his tale, he very deliberately gave out lists of things that would lessen the pain, if not relieve if immediately. He gave out strategies to deal with back pain as a part of his story, knowing that Damian would be able to pick it up. A smart child, this one. How lucky was Bruce to be able to have him, and how it broke Bruce’s hearts that he missed ten years of Damian’s life. 

When Bruce saw Damian implementing the strategies he told him in the story, he pretended not to notice. Not just because Damian would stop using that tried and true methods if he even suspected for a second Bruce would not agree with it, but because he truly did not know how to feel about it. He was glad that he could bring relief to Damian’s pain, but at the same time, a child of twelve should not be dealing with spine problems. And so Bruce pretended he didn’t notice, and made a note to keep the heat packs always stocked. 

* * *

Bruce did not realize that Tim had worn his ankle brace to patrol. 

Tim had periodically worn the ankle brace off and on; Bruce had expected that. Any joint that is prone to injury, yet still used again and again will need to be supported. The ankle is one, the knee is another, and yet another is the shoulder. Bruce's most painful one is mostly the shoulder, even though all of those joints hurt on a daily basis. That is why he was not surprised to see Tim sporting an ankle brace. It was easy enough to explain too, most of the active children had a brace somewhere on their body, and Tim was notoriously a skateboarder. 

Tim had not skateboarded in so long, not since he became the CEO of Wayne Industries. He had not worn those ankle brace in quite some time either. 

Bruce just realized that Tim had worn his ankle brace underneath his costume when he returned from patrol. It was not weird that Tim had worn it, it was weird that Bruce did not realize that as something pressing. 

Had this really become their reality? Of pains and aches everywhere?

"Is your ankle okay?" Bruce asked. 

Tim startled. It was as if he didn't expect Bruce to care about this. It was as if he didn't expect Bruce to care about _him._

(Bruce cared. Of course he cared. It was just expressing it was sometimes difficult.)

"Yeah, it's fine. It's just acting out, you know?"

Bruce knew. He knew intimately how that felt. Bruce still wished none of his children have to feel that. 

"Do you need to take a break from patrol?"

"What?" Tim genuinely sound confused. Is it that confusing for Bruce to want his children to be safe? "It's nothing Bruce, just my ankle acting up. It does that sometimes. Nothing to worry about.” Tim shrugged. “I’ll be fine. It’s not going to be a liability on patrol.” 

Did Tim really think that Bruce only cared for him being a liability on patrol? Bruce just didn’t want his children to be feeling pain on a daily basis, not like he is feeling pain on a daily basis, but it seemed like all of them are. Tim, who is not out of his teens yet, who is not legally allowed to drink yet, is already feeling pain that will stay with him for the rest of his life. This was not supposed to happen. Bruce was supposed to protect them from this. 

“I’ll take it easy tomorrow if you’re _that_ worried, Bruce, but honestly, I’m fine. I’ve been having this on and off for years now. It didn’t bother me that much anymore.” 

Bruce took from that sentence that it _used_ to bother Tim, but he ignored it because he saw Bruce ignoring his own pain and thought he should too, and now it didn’t bother him anymore. It was not as reassuring as Tim no doubt meant it to be. 

Bruce wanted to say so many things. Bruce wanted to keep this precious child that he had been given safe and sound. Bruce did not do any of those things. Words are not his forte, especially words filled with emotions. He could play with it just fine, could solve questions and intellectual riddles, but when it came to emotions? Bruce did what he had always done. He grunted. 

Tim laughed. He honestly laughed. Why is he laughing? His safety is not a laughing matter. 

“Good night, Bruce.” Tim smiled, and then he head up to the Manor, hopefully to get some sleep. He had not been sleeping enough. (Bruce is aware that he is being a hypocrite, but he is allowed to be a hypocrite if it’s for the wellbeing of his children.) 

It was good to hear Tim laugh. He had not done that nearly enough too. 

* * *

“Bruce!” 

“Yes, Jason?” Bruce would still not be able to comprehend that his child, his _Jason_ , is here in the Manor. He never imagined that he would be able to see Jason again, to hear him again. He never thought he’d be able to see Jason all grown up, instead of the lanky teenager he was before… Before. 

It was a gift that Jason was in the Manor, because it was very rare. It was even rarer that he would walk around the way he is now. Shirtless, with his whole torso open??. 

Bruce was still bitter that Jason grew up to be taller than him. Mostly because while he was a child, Jason was _short_. It figures that he would be the one to finally be taller than Bruce. But what really struck Bruce the most was how rigid and muscled up his boy had become. Oh, he had muscles as a child too, he wouldn’t be Robin without it, but it was not to this extent. Batman was supposed to be a shield, and so Bruce cultivated his body to be such. Broad and able to take the most damage. He did not want any of his children to make themselves to be like that too. (He did not want any of his children to make themselves take damage. _He_ was supposed to take that damage for them.) 

Nevertheless, Jason is as broad as Bruce is now. Bruce had known it, had seen Jason with this new stature that is so different yet similar to his stature as a child, but with armor and uniform on, Bruce hadn’t really registered that Jason is now very, very different than the skinny, lanky child he had been. 

Bruce had also never seen the scars that littered Jason’s torso. Some of it Bruce knew he got from before Bruce had ever met him. Life on the streets in Gotham is harsh, doubly so if you are a child. Some Jason got from his tenure as Robin. Some, Bruce knew is a remnant from… the explosion. Most disturbingly, there is much more that Bruce didn’t know where those came from. 

Bruce knew, or suspected, that Jason had training before he came back to Gotham. He must have. His skillset is so much more diverse and honed than it was when he was Robin. Bruce never thought about, or didn’t want to think about, what kind of training that he would have gotten. 

Bruce was not a kind teacher. He knew that. He trained his children so that they could _live_. That result would not be from kindness. Gotham streets are not kind, and so Bruce trained them the way Gotham streets would treat them. But he was not harsh, either. He would not injure them for training purposes. Training is training, not grounds for punishment. 

Jason was hurt a lot during those years he was away. That much Bruce knew. Bruce wants to go hunt out those people and make them pay, yet he knew he would never do that. (He knew once he started, he won’t stop.)

“Bruce!” A snap of fingers. “Hey, Bruce, are you listening to what I say?” 

Bruce blinked. Cleared his mind. “Sorry, Jay. What were you saying?” 

“Did you know where Alfred put his cleaning supplies? I spilled marinara sauce on my sweater and I need to soak it, like, _now_. I won’t get it out if I don’t.” 

Bruce knows a lot of things, and Bruce knows most of the things in the Manor, but the location of the cleaning supplies was not a thing that he knew, or that Alfred deemed it fit to let him know. “I don’t know, Jay. Maybe ask Alfred?” 

Jason scrunched up his face. It looked exactly the same as the expression he used to have as a child. “Yeah, I should have known you wouldn’t know. Should have gone to Alfred right away. See ya, B.” 

As Jason walked away, still muttering under his breath, Bruce was greeted with the sight of Jason’s back, which had as many scars as Jason’s torso. Bruce wanted to ask how he got those scars. Bruce wanted to keep him safe so that there would be no more scars on Jason. Bruce wanted to ask if those scars bother him as much as Bruce’s own bothers Bruce, and Bruce wanted to share his tricks to mitigating the pain. But most of all, Bruce wanted to take all those scars and injuries, now and at the time they were inflicted, and let Jason be free of it all. 

Jason being in the Manor is as rare as it is. Bruce did not want to lose that. (The last time Bruce said something Jason didn’t like, he didn’t come to the Manor for months, not even to see Alfred. Bruce did not want that to happen again.) Bruce kept his mouth shut, and watched Jason walk away from him. 

* * *

  
Bruce would like to think he knew Dick. Bruce had spent almost half of his life with Dick, and that was the majority of Dick's life. But Bruce did not even really knew Alfred, and he had spent _all_ of his life with him. So. He did not know Dick as well as he would have wished to. 

He did not know the story of every scar on Dick's body. There was once a time that he knew that: a time when Dick would tell it excitedly to him and he would pretend not to freak out because this was a child, _his_ child, and he had gotten hurt. Now Dick tend to hide his injuries from him, or simply disappear until that injuries had healed. Bruce knew that Dick is a more than capable vigilante, and an adult. But Bruce will never be able to see him being hurt without remembering the nine-year-old boy. 

The man before him had many more scars and injuries than that nine-year-old boy. 

"B, stop staring," Dick said without even removing his hands from his eyes. It was like he had a sixth sense of knowing when Bruce was staring at him. (He probably did. Bruce had stared at him for so long that he would.) 

Bruce grunted.

“I’m fine, B. There’s no new injuries I’m hiding from you this time.” 

This time. Bruce wished that Dick would not hide _any_ injuries from him at all, but of course that is not what happens. Bruce grunted again. 

“Ugh, fine! It’s the leg. I miscalculated someone’s weight and didn’t land as I should have. It’s fine. I’ll go and get the heat pack in a moment. I know I should have known better, and I should take more care of my leg. Just...let me stay here for a minute, okay?” 

Bruce loved it that the two of them could communicate without him saying anything. Dick had been with Bruce almost from the very beginning of it all. There is no need for him to say anything. But sometimes, like now, Dick did not understand fully what Bruce meant. Bruce knew Dick was expecting a lecture on thinking before leaping, or to amp up his training as to not make anymore mistakes like this again. Bruce knew Dick interpreted his scowl as displeasure on him making a mistake. 

This was not the case. Bruce’s scowl was because Dick had been hurt, again, in the crusade that was not his to begin with. Bruce wanted to _say_ that to Dick, to let him know that he was both proud and worried about Dick’s achievements. But he will never say that, not in any foreseeable future, anyway. 

So Bruce did the next best thing. He went and took the heat pack from the (very big and extensive) first aid kit, and put it on the very spot that is hurting on Dick’s leg. Bruce knew precisely where it is. That injury, and every other injuries Dick had sustained during his lengthy career as Robin, Nightwing, and Batman, were his fault, because he was the one who put Dick in that costume. If he could not stop it from happening, then Bruce would memorize every single spot that Dick, and the rest of his children, had been injured in. 

(The spots that he knew of, anyway. Bruce was not so blind as to not know that there are many, many injuries his children hide from him. It broke his heart to know it.) 

Then Bruce put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, and kept watch as Dick went to sleep. 

* * *

  
“Cassandra?” 

The girl in question was sitting on a bench, staring at her leg. She gave no indication that she had heard him, but Bruce was sure that she had. 

So he spoke again. “Cassandra?” 

When even the second mention of her name elicit no response, Bruce walked to where she was sitting and crouched in front of her. “Cassandra?” 

She did not smile. She did not acknowledge him in any visible way, but he knew that she knows he is there. Her hand did not move from its position in her back. 

Oh. How could he not realize that when he came in? Bruce may not know every single injury on Cass’ body, but this one is hard to miss. David Cain was lucky that Batman did not do worse to him. 

Bruce lifted his hand, and slowly reached for Cass’ back, to the spot she was touching too. Cass wordlessly shifted herself to let Bruce touch it. God. She had been hurt here before, had been _shot_ here and expected not to flinch as a girl, yet she still let herself be touched by Bruce. 

Bruce let his hand stay on Cass’ back. She finally looked into Bruce’s eyes. Bruce looked back. 

Moments passed. Words did not. They just looked at each other. 

Then finally, Cass smiled. A small one, unlike the ones she usually give him. (Cass have multitudes of smiles, and Bruce had the biggest one directed at him. It was a privilege he knew he did not deserve.) Bruce smiled back.

* * *

Bruce knew going in that his would be a life of pain. He did not regret any of his choices that led to this life. He regretted that his children’s life would be a life of pain too. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays!!! check out my tumblr (huilian.tumblr.com)


End file.
